Coconut Trees
by Anton M
Summary: Pride & Prejudice. Sometimes, when a plane crashes, it doesn't have the decency to pick a tropical island filled with coconut trees. OOC, modern
1. Impact

**Summary:** Pride  & Prejudice. Sometimes, when a plane crashes, it doesn't have the decency to pick a tropical island filled with coconut trees. OOC, modern

 **A/N:** Happy new year! I hope you've had a safer time travelling than my two heroes are about to have. As always, if you have subscribed because of _Twilight_ , please feel free to ignore my foray into the world of _Pride and Prejudice_. (Although I will be incredibly happy to have you here, of course.)

Your thoughts mean the world to me, if you have a minute to share them.

 **Disclaimer:** _Pride and Prejudice_ belongs to Jane Austen. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, belong to the author of this story, Anton M. No copyright infringement is intended.

: :

 **Coconut Trees**  
by Anton M.

 **Chapter 1: Impact**

: :

"33E? At the very back, Miss. Have a nice flight."

I waited after wailing children, earbud-wearing teenagers and frequent fliers, most of whom were filled with relief and impatience after an hour's delay. Letting go of my carry-on, I forced a tired smile at a particularly snail-paced woman, but when an opening cleared the aisle, I nearly knocked over a gentleman with my forty-pound suitcase as I approached my seat.

"Christ."

A brown-haired, pleasant-looking man rubbed his elbow.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir."

"No bother."

He came to my aid when I struggled to lift my bag to the overhead compartment, and I had no choice but to admit my gratitude. His smile was filled with charm.

"Are you a geologist?"

"Why?"

"You appear to have stolen all the rocks in China."

I smiled but didn't reply. Between me and my seat sat a man whose neck was protected by a giant scarf, immersed in _Nature_. The turquoise and pink cover read 'Germ-Cell Tumour Genomics', and after making sure that I had my phone and water bottle with me, I tapped his shoulder. Dark eyes locked with mine, and I took a step back.

Imposing build, strong jaw-line and equally severe eyebrows made the man look stricter than he was, and while I had thought of the man often, I'd never thought I'd see him again.

Doctor Fitzwilliam Darcy.

His mouth fell agape. His nose was red, and the clearing of his throat revealed a cough. As if in slow motion, he stood up and avoided my eyes.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, folding the magazine in his hands when he stepped out of the way. "I can request another seat if sitting next to me makes you uncomfortable."

My heart ached for the man.

"No," I replied, quickly sitting down. "It's quite all right."

Indecisive, he stood, staring at his chair until a coughing fit hit him. When he sat, he put his magazine in the pocket by his knees and intertwined his fingers in his lap. His thumbs started circling each other.

"I have Advil and Tylenol, if you'd like some."

His eyes firmly in his lap, he said, "I have codeine and penicillin, thank you."

Leaning back, he shut his eyes, and I couldn't help but feel responsible for some of his discomfort. He ran his palms up and down his thighs as the captain greeted us, and I wondered why a man like Darcy would not fly in first class.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, welcome on board to China Northern Airlines Flight 9122 from Beijing to Montreal. We apologise for the delay. The flight will last 12 hours and 55 minutes, and our arrival is now scheduled at 12:05 PM local time at the Pierre Elliot Trudeau International Airport. Please follow instructions given by the crew. I wish you a pleasant journey."_

I pursed my lips in a smile as a girl, perhaps 12 or 13, sat on my right.

Brushing my hand against Darcy's forearm, I gathered my courage and said, "I owe you an apology."

His palms stopped rubbing his thighs as his eyes opened.

"You have nothing to apologise for."

The plane turned and started moving toward the runway as the crew started showing us how to buckle seatbelts and react to oxygen masks.

Darcy's pursed lips emphasised the severity of his features, and I couldn't help but feel tenderness for the man who guarded his vulnerability so valiantly.

"I was arrogant enough to assume that you could feel for me what I felt for you," he said in his hoarse, near-cough voice. He rubbed his chest, over his tie. "I've learned my lesson."

"No," I argued. "I made so many mistakes—"

He shut his eyes. "If we're counting, I'm sure I'd win."

"You helped to pay for my mother's surgery when she didn't care about being insured in the UK. If my family knew you were the one who saved her—"

"Don't. Please."

"—they would be eternally grateful, as am I." I bit my lip, pondering. "I've wanted to tell you this for a long time. You're a hard man to get a hold of."

"You were not supposed to know."

"I'm glad that I do."

"I don't want your gratitude."

"Yet you have it."

He turned away his face, his jaw and lips hidden in his scarf, and I could not help but feel a surge of clarity and affection. His awkward, near-unsociable behaviour had disguised his admirable traits, and I'd had two years to digest the proposal I'd refused. I had been misguided by prejudices and his pride, but his actions toward my mother, a woman he despised, revealed a man worth more than any I'd met before—or after. I noticed the tense he'd used to describe his feelings, and I had no right to hope that he'd hold a candle for me after everything I did and said. I was a bit taken aback by my affection and worry for his health, but it could not be helped. He hid his real character too well, and now that I knew of it, I could neither dismiss his silence nor his awkwardness.

Playing with the plastic around my overpriced water bottle, I asked, "Do you think we could be friends?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

His rejection stung, but I could not fault him for his words.

"I understand," I replied quietly, wishing to reach over and squeeze his arm to show how much his help meant to me. But I couldn't.

The plane took off. Darcy sat, palms on his thighs and eyes shut. A bead of sweat had started to cover his forehead, and I wondered if it was caused by fever or fear of flying. The seatbelt lights were switched off, and I took off an earbud to hear the captain.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, we have now gained an altitude of 35,000 feet or ten and a half kilometres. The weather is nearly windless, but we might brush past a storm just before Alaska. We do not expect anything extreme, but for your own safety, please pay attention to the seatbelt signs. Food will be served in three hours. I wish you a pleasant flight."_

Darcy shivered as he struggled to cover himself with his blanket, but he didn't open his eyes. I unfolded my own blanket, laid it on top of him, and held out my pillow.

"Darcy," I whispered.

He blinked at me. Sitting up, he started to peel away my blanket from his, but I squeezed his wrist.

"Please. You have every right to hate me, but I'm not a monster. You're sick. Let me help."

His eyes were unfocused. Sighing, he accepted a second pillow before reclining his seat.

"I have to take penicillin an hour after takeoff," he said. "What time is it?"

"It's quarter after one."

I caught the attention of a flight attendant and asked for water. I would've given mine, but Darcy wouldn't have agreed to share his germs. If it weren't for his illness, I would've asked what caused him to fly economy, or to fly at all in his state, but he shut his eyes and I covered him with another extra blanket that I got from a stewardess. I wrapped arms around my knees, feeling chilly, and listened to music. The distant buzz of flying and flickering touch screens prevented me from sleeping, but I was happy to keep an eye on Darcy. I've flown with a runny, clogged nose. It's painful.

Food was served, and I squeezed Darcy's arm to see if he was up for it, but he swallowed his painkillers and closed his eyes. I felt for him.

The seatbelt signs flickered. A rumble shook the plane. I shut my eyes, focusing on my music, before the plane jerked. A stewardess hit the ceiling, and a man fell headfirst against the corner of the lavatory. People screamed. Oxygen masks opened. I didn't realise I had clutched on to Darcy's hand before he squeezed it, looking at me with sick but alert eyes. I put on my own mask before helping Darcy with his. He coughed into it. The girl next to me was gasping for air, and I helped her, too. It distracted me from the bubbling panic.

Life, suddenly, felt infinitely precious, and I couldn't accept death. I didn't want to. I thought of my silly sisters and my eldest expecting her first child with her husband. I thought of my parents. I regretted the marriage proposal I'd thrown in Darcy's face two years ago, but felt grateful for the experiences I'd had as a photographer, since. It all flashed in my mind, an aimless kaleidoscope of emotions and pictures. I was terrified.

The shouts felt distant but the crying went through my bones. We were no longer nosediving but descending at a speed that wouldn't allow for a safe landing. I could feel it in the barest feeling of floating, and after locking eyes with Darcy, I knew that he shared my thoughts. He wrapped both of his hands around mine, breathing heavily but staring at me, maybe willing for me to stay with him without losing my mind. Without him, I might've been screaming like everyone else.

" _Brace for impact."_

The voice was alien, like another entity, and I recognised that the captain had spoken other words I hadn't registered. Darcy put his arm on my back, nudging me forward, and I squeezed his thigh. A blast echoed in my ears just as freezing cold knocked the breath out of me. The plane shook, cracking, circling, but I could not see or hear or feel anything but the freezing prickling in my lungs and Darcy's hand in mine. My head bumped against the seat in front of me as the motion stopped.

Silence, unlike anything I'd experienced before, followed.


	2. Introductions

: :

 **Coconut Trees**  
by Anton M.

 **Chapter 2: Introductions**

: :

An overhead compartment collapsed somewhere on my left. Wind whistled. I removed my mask and lifted my head. Thick, white snow formed a wall three rows ahead of me where the front of the plane had been. The sight felt surreal. A few murmurs could be heard as I unbuckled my seatbelt.

"Darcy?"

He groaned. I brushed snow from his back and leaned closer to his head. "Are you okay?"

His knee was bleeding heavily. I checked for his pulse.

"Yes." His mask fogged before a fit of coughing struck him and he tore off the plastic. Overwhelmed, I wrapped my arms around him and hid my nose against his neck. In spite of his heavy breathing, he returned my hug just as fiercely. I hadn't felt his arms around me for two years, and he smelled like home. I'd missed him. I couldn't possibly convey in a hug how much I'd missed him, but I had.

"You're hurt," I whispered.

"Shallow wounds," he replied. "These seats are made for midgets."

I stifled a smile and pulled back, running my palm over his jaw. He brushed his wet hands over my own face. I had missed the hungry, tender gaze he gave me, raw and unfiltered in the dim light. "Are you hurt?"

His eyes were glassy and voice hoarse.

"I'm okay," I said. A ginger-haired man stuffed a blanket into the open window, and the wind stopped whistling. "If I determine how many people are injured, will you help me help them?"

Darcy unbuckled his seatbelt. "I'll come with you."

"No, you're—"

"Bloody hell." He groaned as he held himself up, but I made him sit before I lit up my phone. The side of his head was bleeding.

"You might have a concussion. Do you have a first-aid kit?"

"I always do."

"Doctor! Is there a doctor here? We need a doctor!"

A similar shout could be heard from other corners. Several people had stood up. Phones lit up corners. The man who'd stuffed the window was emptying the overhead compartments, probably to make sure another wouldn't collapse. Two children were wailing next to the body of their mother. A teenage boy hugged them. A man lay unconscious or dead on the aisle with his leg almost cut off. I counted more than ten people lying down, injured or dead. I felt like I was witnessing a scene from a movie, and I forced myself not to think, or I wouldn't function.

"Is wrapping a belt around a limb to stop bleeding still practiced?"

"Not always recommended, but it works. Why?"

"I need your belt."

Silently and without question, Darcy removed his belt, and I gave it to an elderly woman who stared at the horror around her.

"I need your help, ma'am."

She raised her eyes. "My-my help?"

"Yes. See that man over there, with his leg almost torn off? Go and check his pulse. If he has one, I want you to tie this belt around his thigh as tightly as you can."

"Che-check his pulse?"

"Yes, ma'am, and tie this around his thigh. You might save his life."

The woman made eye contact with me when she detected a pulse, and the man who'd helped me with my luggage went to aid her. I felt Darcy's eyes on me when I opened his impeccably packed luggage, unzipped his first-aid kit, and started cleaning his head wound.

"All right!" I shouted, gaining everyone's attention. "Listen up, everyone! We have a doctor among us, but he has a possible concussion and is very ill, so I need you all to be patient, okay? Is there anyone here who has a first-aid kit in their carry-on or knows of anyone else having one?"

The Chinese boy who sat with his brother and sister raised his arm. "I think—I think our mom had one."

"Can anyone help him find it?"

"I have—vodka." An overweight, middle-aged man zipped open his luggage and delivered tiny bottles of liquor.

"Excellent. The plane should also have an emergency kit. Everything you find, I want you to bring to the seat next to Doctor Darcy over here. Does anyone object to this?" Nods and murmurs of agreement could be heard, and I sighed in relief. "Everyone who is uninjured, please help others. Try to use disinfectants sparingly."

I turned to the girl who'd sat beside me. "Miss—you with brown hair and a braid, what is your name?"

"Kitty."

"That's a beautiful name. How is your math, Kitty?"

She raised her chin even though her eyes were shimmering with tears. "I'm on top of my class, Miss."

"You should be proud," I said. "Could you do me a favour, Kitty? Could you count everyone you see who is okay, and then the injured? There's some paper and a pen in my handbag, if you want."

She wiped her nose and cheeks against her shoulder, but said, "I can do that."

A lady approached Darcy, speaking Russian, and the only word I caught was 'doctor'.

"He'll be with you in a moment, Ma'am. I promise."

An elderly man started to unzip suitcases and throwing clean, dry clothes at people who were shivering too violently to focus on anything else. Those closer to the front seats were wet from melting snow. Some people were crying, most were frantic to get warm, and a few had started filling the instructions I'd given.

I disinfected the wound on the side of Darcy's head before cutting open his pants to get to his knee. He told me what to do, and when I was finished, he slid his cold palm against my neck and stared at me.

"Elizabeth."

"Are you dizzy? Hurt? Do you need to lie down?"

"Elizabeth," he repeated, stroking my neck and leaning forward, resting his forehead against mine. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault you're injured."

"No." He scowled, squeezing my hand. "I'm _sorry_. I'm sorry for—before, for insulting you and, for everything that transpired between us." Darcy pursed his lips. His hoarse voice was quieter than before. "Can you forgive me?"

"I already have."

"Oy, loverboy! If you're well enough to snuggle with your lady, you're well enough to take care of my girlfriend. She has a fucking wire through her shoulder."

I squeezed Darcy's thigh. "Are you up for this?"

Grimacing, he stood up but shut his eyes. "I have to be."

Were it not for his profession then his size alone would've made people trust his words. I let him lean on me when he started to limp to the woman who'd asked for our help.

"Miss! Miss!"

Kitty appeared, asking for how old we were before she scribbled down the numbers and handed me her paper. "I asked some people to write their own name because… they weren't English. The people who are okay to stand and talk are in green, people who can talk but are injured are in orange, and I—" She hesitated. "I didn't want to touch anyone who wasn't responding, so in red are the people who are unconscious or, or, dead."

 _Kitty, 13 (green)  
Doctor Darcy, 32 (green)  
Elizabeth, 24 (green)  
Aнна Pостовцева, 58 (green) (Anna Rostovtseva)  
_ _Евгений Ростовцев, 38 (red)_ _(Yevgeni Rostovtsev)_

 _William Collins, 27 (orange)_  
 _Man in a blue coat, ? (red)_  
 _Two girls beside him, ? (red, red)_  
 _Li Na, 35 (green)_  
 _George Wickham, 33 (green)_

 _Zhang Min, (woman in a red sweater), ? (red)_  
 _Zhang Lei, 15 (green)_  
 _Zhang Juan, 3 (green)_  
 _Zhang Yong, 7 (orange)_  
 _Farhad Turani, 63 (green)_

 _Man in a black jacket, ? (red)_  
 _Old man beside him, ? (red)_  
 _Woman with pink hair, ? (red)_  
 _Charlotte Lucas, 43 (orange)_  
 _Orri Rúnarsson, 41 (green)_

 _Boy in a red sweater, ? (red)_  
 _Two small girls in striped coats, ? (red, red)_  
 _Mary Gardiner, 59 (green)_  
 _Man in cowboy boots, ? (red)_  
 _Old man with a brown hat, ? (red)_

 _Woman in a blue dress, ? (red)_  
 _Man with a silver watch, ? (red)_  
 _Roger McKinnon, 53 (green)_  
 _Lydia Smith, 25 (orange)_

"This is invaluable, Kitty. Sharp thinking. Thank you."

She blushed under my praise, and wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. "I want to help, please. I don't like blood, but if I have to sit down and think I will go crazy."

"Kitty, was it?" Darcy asked, and, nodding, the girl blushed deeper. "It would be very useful if you could go through everyone's luggage, one by one, ask people's permission if you must, and gather all bottles of medicine and pills that are not prescribed to their owners. Don't pay attention to what they are, I'll take care of that. Do you think you can do that for me?"

"I can do that."

Darcy shook from a fit of coughing, and a sheen of sweat had already covered his forehead. A Chinese woman rushed to us and held out a surgical mask, motioning at his face. Darcy covered his face with the mask without a comment. He started to palpate an unconscious man, and I sat, showing the light and filling his instructions. The man groaned. Done with his examination, Darcy stood up and leaned against a seat. A woman, presumably the man's mother, stared at Darcy, wide-eyed. Knowing that she wouldn't understand much, Darcy sighed and shook his head. Speaking more to me than to the lady, he said,

"He's unlikely to survive the night. Even if he does, he'll probably be paralysed from the neck down."

I wasn't sure how much she understood, but the woman's eyes shimmered with tears.

"I'm sorry," Darcy said, squeezing her shoulder before he continued to examine people. Disoriented and sick, he struggled to keep himself alert as he stitched up wounds and performed minor surgeries. He spoke mostly in monosyllables. He made pressure bandages out of T-shirts and told people how to take care of their wounds and broken limbs.

The woman named Charlotte sat, fully alert in spite of the wire that pierced her shoulder, waiting. Darcy wiped his face with his hand.

"I need to cut off your shirt."

"Are you kidding me?! It's below freezing in here!" her boyfriend argued.

"Sir, I boarded the flight with a 39-degree fever. I have pneumonia. If you prefer I leave you all to die so that I can sleep and perhaps never wake up, by all means, leave me in peace. But if you want me to help your girlfriend with no stethoscope in sight, I suggest you shut up and do as I say."

Darcy, coughing, squeezed Charlotte's forearm.

"I must do this to listen to your lungs, and we cannot risk moving the wire."

"I understand," she said, quiet but determined, and I cut off her shirt and showed the light as Darcy started to palpate her ribs, murmuring words like vibrations and resonance without expecting an answer.

"Does it hurt to breathe?"

"No," she said, wrapping arms around her stomach from the cold. "Should it?"

"No," Darcy said. "That's good news. But I'm not going to remove the wire."

"What?! Are you _kidding_ me? How is she supposed to sleep or walk around or do _anything_ —"

Darcy stood up, swaying slightly before he clutched the seats and straightened himself to his wide-shouldered, six foot three frame. He tore off his mask.

"I understand that we are all under a tremendous amount of stress," he said, raising his voice to the best of his ability. "But I am not here to give you the answers you want. I am not God. I am not MacGyver, and I couldn't care less if you kill yourselves in your attempt to defy me. All I am doing is offering you my professional opinion. That is all. I don't care if you sue me in a month, I don't care if you hate me, and I don't care if you don't listen to my advice. But I refuse to kill you or your loved ones just because you think that action is superior to inaction. That is not always the case."

Worried eyes followed his body as he slumped against a seat. He pressed both palms against his eyes and rested his head against the seat. Cold sweat and violent shivers had covered his body for a while. I rushed to his side and laid blankets and a coat on top of him before taking a thermometer from one of the first-aid kits.

"Oh, my God," a man said, voice high and trembling. "We're going to die. We're all going to freeze to death. Nobody will ever find us. Mountain lions will eat us for dinner and—"

A slap echoed, and Kitty stared at the short, stout man in front of her before she blushed furiously. "I'm sorry. He was freaking me out."

An elderly, dark-skinned man smiled at Kitty before coming to sit behind us. "I think we should have a meeting."

People gathered around the aisle where Darcy sat, and I did my best to assess the situation. Five rows of seats had survived the crash, each with 9 seats in them, so hypothetically, 45 people could've survived. That was not the case. The two front rows currently visible were devoid of not only people but seats. The side of the plane was cracked on my left but snow must've covered the outside because no wind got in. The floor had three cracks in it.

Darcy, surprisingly, opened his blankets for me. The tense situation had forced a temporary truce upon us, or he wouldn't have been so kind to me, but I couldn't resist sitting in his lap to share my warmth. He wrapped blankets around us while I held the list of people Kitty had made, and realised, when nobody spoke, that I had made myself the unintentional leader. My only purpose had been to avoid panic, but I couldn't back down from this, not anymore.

"Did anyone check on the people who are unconscious or dead? Did any of them have a pulse?"

"Two did, but… given what your husband looks like, I think we should be patient with them," Charlotte's ginger-haired boyfriend, Orri, said. He looked mildly embarrassed.

I wasn't about to clarify his statement. If we were to spend a few days or a week or a few weeks in close proximity, I had no intention to make myself available for any advances by any strangers.

"What happened?" Kitty asked, rubbing her shins as she sat, curled up in a seat. "One moment, we were flying just fine, and the next… I thought…"

"Do you think it was a terrorist attack?" Orri asked.

"No, it was something with the engine," the Chinese boy answered.

"But the voice wasn't the captain's, when he said to be prepared for impact," Kitty said.

"Yes, it was," the Chinese boy argued. "Do you sound like yourself when you know you're about to die?"

"It doesn't matter," Darcy said, opening his eyes and startling everyone. "Unless any of you is willing to step forward and say you caused the crash, it's the least of our worries."

He rested his head against the seat, shutting his eyes.

"He's right," Charlotte said. She sat a bit awkwardly, but seemed otherwise unaffected by the wire that went through her shoulder, covered on both sides with bandages. "Does anyone have cell phone reception?"

"I've got nothing," Kitty answered. "Anyone else?"

"Nothing."

"No service."

"Is anyone here working in computer technology, IT, programming?"

Faces fell when nobody reacted. If it were possible to do anything with phones to let anyone know where we were without reception, it would be programmers and tech-savvy people. Without that knowledge, we were blind.

"Any clue as to where we could be?"

"The captain said that we'll go past a storm before Alaska, so maybe there?"

"Maybe," an elderly lady answered. "But if it was a technical problem, that might not be the case."

"No, we can't be in Alaska," Charlotte said. "An average plane would fly around 900 kilometres per hour, and we'd flown for 4 hours before we crashed. That means we flew a distance of around 3600 kilometres, which is not enough to take us to Alaska. I think we're in Russia."

"What if we're in North Korea?" Kitty asked, eyes wide.

"We're not," Charlotte said. "Even if the plane had been hijacked, North Korea is way too close to Beijing. We would've had to circle Korea or fly back and forth to remain on that latitude."

"Kamchatka," a woman said, joining the group. She asked for Charlotte's phone, opened a map, and zoomed in on a peninsula. "Da. Zdjess, mozhet byt." ( _Yes. Here, maybe._ )

I didn't have the knowledge to argue, and Kitty's (or anyone else's, it seemed) GPS system didn't work without internet. There was no magic dot on the map.

"We should find a way out of the plane to see if anyone else survived," Kitty suggested.

"Net. Zdjess ochen kholodno. Oni mertvy." ( _No, it's very cold here. They're dead_.)

"Does anyone speak Russian?" I asked.

Heads were shaken. If the Russian woman had valuable information for us, she would have to mime.

"We could try, but nothing can be seen from the windows," Orri said. "It's past six o'clock, Beijing time, probably eight or nine wherever we are now. Even if the people in the front were lucky enough to survive, I think an hour or two in freezing snow, wearing the clothes they did, would be enough to kill them."

"It's dark, snowy, freezing, and few of us have proper winter clothes," I concluded. "Should we try?"

"I'm willing, if anyone else is," Orri said.

"I can join," I said.

"You're not going anywhere," Darcy said, half-asleep and rubbing my side. He displayed a rare if precious moment of vulnerability, and affection filled my heart when he whispered, "Please."

I had to agree. His thermometer proved that his temperature was way too high (39.5 degrees Celsius or 103 degrees Fahrenheit) to leave him. How in the world he managed to help as many people as he did with a fever that high, I couldn't imagine. But I couldn't leave him.

A group of three agreed to leave the plane to find others, but Charlotte stopped them from leaving just yet.

"Before you guys go, can we introduce ourselves? We'll probably spend some time here, together. Name, country of origin, occupation? If we have trouble with stuff, it's good to know what our professions are. I can start. I'm Charlotte, from Toronto, and I'm an accountant."

"Orri, from Iceland but now living in Toronto with Charlotte. I'm a dental prosthesis technician."

"I'm Kitty, from Montreal, a student."

"Roger, 53, from Phoenix, Arizona, but spent most of my life in NYC. Hotel manager."

"William Collins." The short man who'd received a slap from Kitty now avoided everyone's eyes. "I'm a clergyman from Australia."

"Lei Zhang," the Chinese boy said, rocking his little sister on his knee. "I'm half-American, half-Chinese, in case you're wondering about my English. I'm a student. This is my sister Juan, and my brother Yong, sitting by my feet. They speak very little English."

Another woman of Asian descent spoke Mandarin to Lei, before the boy continued, "And this is Na, from Tianjin, China. She's a sales support clerk, and speaks no English."

It had been too dark before, but now that people only lit up their phones when they introduced themselves, I could see that the woman was pregnant, and not in her first trimester.

"Could you ask her when she's due?"

"Due?"

"When does she expect the baby to be born?"

A conversation followed before Lei said, "She says she should have the baby in three weeks."

"Christ," the man who'd helped me with my luggage, said. "She might deliver here. Okay. Okay, fine. I'm George Wickham, from London, UK. I'm in the army."

Darcy's head snapped up so fast that he bumped his head against mine, and in spite of rubbing my skin to soothe the pain, he took my phone from my hands and shined the full light of it in George Wickham's face. He squinted, covering his eyes.

"Christ."

Darcy cleared his throat. "Ladies, be careful of this man's advances."

"Christ, you're talking like I'm a sex fiend."

"Aren't you?"

George Wickham's smile faltered, but he said, "Don't mess with them, Darce, they might think you're serious."

Darcy's grip on my waist tightened before he exhaled against my neck and relaxed.

"I'm Lydia, from LA. I'm an actress and part-time waitress."

"Mary Gardiner, from Manchester, England. I'm a botanist."

The man behind me straightened and lit up his phone. "Farhad, but my English friends call me Fair. I'm Persian, and I work in construction."

"Persian, my ass. Iranian, yeah?"

His eyes narrowed. "Why, do you have a problem with that?"

"No, no problem," George Wickham answered.

"Anna. Ya uchitelnitsa." ( _Anna, I'm a teacher_.)

"If she's a structural engineer or an IT genius and none of us understood that, we're screwed," Orri said. A few snickered.

"I'm Elizabeth, born and raised in Texas and Montreal but living in the UK. Used to be a sales consultant but switched to photography a few years back." I could feel Darcy's eyes on me, but he squeezed me and I could hear how difficult breathing was for him. "And that's Darcy, PhD and MD from Oxford, UK. If you don't mind, guys, I'd like to give him a bit of the floor space to let him stretch out and sleep off his illness."

Nobody objected.

"I have a suggestion, too," Darcy said, his chest rumbling as he spoke. "Our batteries will die if we keep using phone lights as generously as we have. I suggest we create a system so that we don't use up all battery lives within a single day."

Everyone agreed. A group went to collect and count all the food and water we had while another, Orri, Fair, and Lydia, got into layers of clothes. I was emptying some unclaimed handbags to put them on the aisle under Darcy as the emergency door opened, and the freezing wind knocked us breathless. Painful, near-numbing prickling hurt my face and hands, and I rushed to the door. A blizzard howled. Lydia, who had hopped off the plane, was chest-deep in snow, but Fair and Orri pulled her out and shut the door. Red, breathless, shivering people made eye contact. Orri took off his hat.

"Well, I guess that answers that question."

Nobody suggested going outside for the rest of the night. A small group was calculating how much food and water we had, and an annoyed but unanimous agreement was made to start rationing food. Kitty walked around, giving everyone their share of supper, and the rush of adrenaline and fear was starting to decrease. A few people mourned, a few chatted, and a few were going through anonymous luggage. I even heard laughter.

I took off Darcy's tie and forced him into a woollen sweater I'd bought my mother for Christmas. I hadn't realised how much energy he'd put into helping others until I met his blurry eyes and complying body. I unscrewed and cut off some cushioning from a seat and turned it into a pillow, I made sure Darcy's feet were warm and pulled two pairs of woollen socks on top of his before putting his shoes back on, and I made him drink water. He could barely stand. I pulled several pairs of regular socks on top of his hands.

Because so many people were dead, everyone got two blankets, and Roger gave Darcy another to wrap around his legs. If I had let myself feel anything other than insane worry for Darcy, I might've cried in his arms from gratitude.

"Darcy," I whispered, ready to let him lie down on the floor. He hummed in reply. "When do you need to take more penicillin? Do you want codeine?"

"Both."

"Now?"

He hummed, and I helped him take his medicine before he lay down. Some others, too, were preparing to sleep, and I took a few minutes to make sure that the children were okay. The Zhang children had reclined three seats, and the two youngest were already asleep against their brother. Kitty sat on a seat beside Darcy, watching him.

"Will he be okay? I'm scared for him."

"Me, too, but I'll warm him in a bit. Are you okay? Are you warm? Does it hurt anywhere?"

"I'm good. Is it okay if I sleep next to you guys on this seat? I know I'm not a baby anymore, but I don't know anyone else and I don't like the dark."

"Of course. Do you want to join us on the floor?"

"No, I don't like the floor."

"Just let me know if you need anything."

I helped her recline her seat before I removed blankets from Darcy, lay down next to him, and covered us both with four blankets, his coat, and my own. I wasn't sure how okay he would've been with this arrangement had he been lucid, but I could take his anger once he was all right. But I couldn't lose him, not like this, not ever again.

A few phone screens lit up the ceiling from time to time. Footsteps echoed in my ears and conversations increased and decreased in volume as I rubbed the back of Darcy's neck. As time passed, fewer phones lit up the ceiling and even breaths replaced conversations. But some, like me, were still up, pondering.

I pulled away when Darcy shifted, but he turned on his side and faced me, wrapping his arm around me. I felt warm and secure and precious. His chills scared me, but I would've been more afraid had he succumbed to his illness. I wiped his forehead, pulled my sleeve to cover my fingers and curled an arm around his neck. He hummed, and I didn't need a stethoscope to hear his raspy breaths. I didn't know what I would do if I woke up in the morning and he hadn't made it, but I didn't want to find out, so I listened to the wind, to Kitty's soft snoring and to Darcy's heavy breathing. It was a long night.


End file.
